


Worries and Misunderstandings

by Sidrisa



Series: 1000 Points of Light [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Loki is actually a good boyfriend, Not Unplanned Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, confused conversation, i'm talking about another, sorta - Freeform, you're talking about one thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9612269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidrisa/pseuds/Sidrisa
Summary: After trial and tribulation, after sacrifice and loss, with the Power and Magic of love behind you, you are finally ready to assume your throne and take your rightful place as Queen. But as you approach your capital city, you begin to have doubts and fears that cause worry among your people. Namely your Princely lover. Can he muster the empathy it takes to keep you focused? Or will your revelation shatter the tenuous happiness you both have finally managed to create for one another.Sequel to Power and Magic





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Power and Magic, this story takes place immediately after Chapter 103 and before Epilogue Chapter 104

You can hear it long before it appears on the horizon. Long before the pale yellow walls of the Ivory City curve out from the river valley like a freshwater pearl, you hear it.

“N’inge, what is that?”

“Your people, my lady. They knew we would arrive today, they have come from all over to greet you.”

Your home is a long stretch of grasslands nestled between two mountain ranges. The ancient mapmakers thought it looked like the haft of a spear, so the Lowlands--so called for being so far south--were also called the Spear Lands. And if your land is a spear, the Ivory City is it’s head--so sharp it cleaves the ancient river into two streams that surround the city.

Your palace is here as well as the homes of the wealthy nobles in your parliament. Most of them are landowners with farmlands or landowners with huge tracts of pasture used for breeding and training the horses your people are famous for. Tanners, leather workers, and furriers choke the market districts making modest to extravagant livings as craftsmen and merchants. The whole of the Nine come here for the best leather, fur, and horseflesh any currency could buy.

Asgard smells of incense and flowers. Your home smells of horse manure and cured flesh. Asgard is a city of gold and marble. The Ivory City has no ivory, only dusty white quarried stone and kiln-fired brick.

The Ivory City is humble and homely compared to Asgard’s extravagance. You worry your prince will think less kindly of it. Maybe even leave you to return to that extravagance.

But no matter what, you are finally home.

And you are terrified of stepping hoof inside the city gate.

The cries of the people rise as you get closer. They chant your name, almost in sync with your beating heart until both are so loud in your ears you can’t hear the screaming in your head.

_Run._

“Cephalus!”

You don’t have to speak the command. He hears your panic and heeds it.

The red horse kicks into a gallop and goes tearing off the road and into the fields, faster than any eye can follow.

**

Cephalus runs, the grass blurs underneath his hooves until it doesn’t look like you’re moving at all, like the landscape is all one stationary smear of green. The sky, mid-morning sunshine, turns into a smear of blue-white, only the wind stinging your face and snatching snags of your hair, undoing whole braids tells you how fast you fly.

“Stop.”

You don’t shout over the roaring wind. You simply breathe and Cephalus stops.

Last time you did this, when you were still a ward of Asgard, you got so hopelessly lost in ice and snow and almost killed by bandits. But you’re home now, you know where you are. But it is far enough away that you cannot hear or see the Ivory City.

And you can breathe again.

You find a tree and dismount, taking shade in the branches for a quiet moment of total solitude.

“Go. Run free.” You tell the horse. He’s gone before you can finish the command.

And then, safely alone, you retch.

**

Without so much as a word to him, you’re gone. Faster than a bird, you’ve flown away mere miles from being home again.

“What in nine Hels was _that_ about?”

An aged but wicked hand seizes him by the collar and pulls until he is half out of the saddle, threatening to drop him into the dirt. “What did you say to her?”

“Naga? Nina?”

“N’inge.” Se’risa informs him from the back of her own steed. She’s too small for a full grown mount but she sits astride her pony like it is the greatest of warhorses.

“To you, Asgardian, it is Commander only.”

Loki struggles to keep upright. “Is this how you treat Royal Ambassadors, my father will hear about this!”

He makes a note to purge his mouth with the strongest wine for saying something so insipid. This _commander_ , however, doesn’t need to know that.

“I don’t care!” The old woman shows surprising strength as she dangles him off his horse. A full grown man in full leather regalia, he is not light. “What did you say to my lady?”

“Nothing! She just,” he tries to make a gesture with his hands and accidentally lets go of his reins.

Seizing opportunity, N’inge lets him go and Loki crashes from his horse into the dirt. He’s on his feet in a lightning’s flash, staff blade precariously close to cutting _Commander_ N’inge’s neck.

“Perhaps the old woman needs a refresher on respect!”

Equally as fast, nine spear tips poke Loki in the back. A twitch from any one of them and heads will roll.

“Stop it!” Se’risa shouts, summoning as much base in her voice as a child can muster. “By order of the Princess, stop!”

No one moves until a grunt from Commander N’inge makes her soldiers withdraw their weapons. Then, reluctantly, Loki lowers his own. Se’risa’s royal command is not enough it seems. She is under your protection and afforded the simplest of courtesies, but the soldiers remember her, and her mother and father. No matter the title _you’ve_ given her, she is still the child of servants.

Unbothered, that child of servants shows greater dignity than the grown children of nobles.

“Ambassador Loki are you alright?”

“Fine.” He spits, more upset at her treatment than his own. You need the army on your side, and any disrespect shown your heir is disrespect for you. He was tasked by Odin to look after Asgard’s interests, he’s already decided that your’s come first.

“Princess Se’risa,” N’inge does not care for the Asgardian, ignores the proper courtesies due him and addresses your princess. “Did the Queen tell you about anything bothering her?”

“She was getting quieter the closer we got to the city.” Loki mumbles.

“I wasn’t asking you!”

Loki’s fingers twitch but Se’risa diffuses another altercation.

“He’s right! Commander N’inge, I understand how you feel, but he is our liege lord’s appointed ambassador. We must, at times, defer to his judgement. That goes for the rest of you too!”

The army grumbles but offers no further complaint.

“Where might she have gone?”

“On Cephalus she could be anywhere.”

“Why don’t you ask him then?”

“I don’t speak horse like you besides…”

Cephalus’s soft nicker interrupts him, the great warhorse appears before Loki, tossing his head impatiently like a summons.

_You must come._

Loki eyes the beast skeptically annoying Cephalus, he stamps in the dirt and neighs louder hoping to adequately convey his demand.

_You must come!_

“If you’re trying to--”

Cephalus knocks Loki over with a hard push from his nose, then he lowers himself on his forelegs making it abundantly clear, what he wants. The soldiers snicker.

“Prince Loki, Cephalus wants you to…”

“I know!” Loki groans, angry and embarrassed, deciding it better to just heed the damn thing before he starts a war.

He’s only halfway on the greathorse before Cephalus is flying again.

**

“I’ll boil you for glue so help me stars!” Loki screams. During the ride he shouts all kinds of foul oaths, most of them get carried away on the wind while the rest amuse Cephalus endlessly. He knows his mistress, no matter her love, would never allow her pale mate to “make a gelatin from his hooves.”

By the time he stops, Loki’s lost his outer coat and the sleeves on his shirt have been shredded by the wind (good thing too, it’s insufferably hot down here.) Cephalus stops and snorts. _We’re here._

Loki ignores the obvious message, taking time to compose himself (mostly his hair) before assessing where in nine realms he’s been taken.

He takes too long and Cephalus, petty horse, bucks him right off. The Prince of Asgard falls in the dusty red dirt, again, so humbled by your horse, _again._

“You’ll pay for this, I swear it!”

The horse tosses his mane in an equine eye-roll. The prince may have to suffer disrespect from your army but not from your horse. He grabs his reigns and forces the horse to look him in the eye.

“Listen you hooved Helbeast! Like it or not we’re going to be spending a lot of time together because we have a mutual acquaintance whom we both care deeply for. And since I cannot kill you, and since you cannot be rid of me we better start...”

He smells it before he hears it, the foul stench of sick.

He sees you, doubled over, on your knees losing your breakfast.

“Princess?”

You take a moment to re-compose yourself. Loki tosses you a water skin and you take several calming gulps.

“Are you alright?” He asks, concerned, perhaps a little repelled, and still annoyed with his treatment from before. Still, he tries to soften the disgust on his face.

It doesn’t work.

“I’m…”

You turn quickly to avoid spraying him with the very last of your breakfast. It takes a few more minutes before your stomach is calm enough to speak.

“I’m…”

“If you say fine so help me stars…”

“Sick.”

“Yes, fool, that’s clear. What I’m trying to deduce is why.”

Your hair’s a mess, you look ashen, your eyes are sunken and ringed with dark circles. It’s mid morning but you look like someone who’s still lost in a drunken stupor from the night before.

In a word: sick. Very sick.

He thinks of the potential causes. Bad food. Ill health. There should be no external reasons for your sudden illness so he runs through internal ones and…

Oh.

_Shit._

“I’m fine Loki. Promise.”

You can’t tell him why you’re sick. He’ll...he probably won’t take it very well.

“Are...are you sure?” He asks, suddenly stifled, suddenly burning up and unable to breathe properly.

“Mmmhmm. Just give me a minute and we’ll go back.”

“Do you...do you want to talk about this?” He loosens his collar, but it doesn’t make breathing any easier. His throat feels like it’s about to close, choking him on his own...he doesn’t know what this feels like. Curse this infernal heat!

“No...I mean...it’s pretty obvious isn’t it? I just need some time.”

“Well, we must prepare…”

“How do you prepare for something like this?” You ask suddenly before another bout of dry heaving overwhelms you.

“Stars! I don’t know! We talked about this. I thought you were okay.”

“I thought I was too but…” You make a futile gesture with your hands. “Here we are.”

“Yes,” his heart’s somewhere in Niflheim, he’s convinced he’ll never get it back. “Here we are.”

It feels like fear, he supposes it _is_ fear, but this kind of fear doesn’t scare him strangely enough, it excites him. He is not ready for this, not by any stretch, but as a wry smile overcomes his face he remembers he has a proclivity for mischief. And _this_ , this might be the greatest mischief he’ll ever undertake.

“Princess.” He doesn’t care that’s not your title anymore and there’s nothing you’ll do to make him care. Besides, you can’t have a title higher than his own, hurts the ego.

He brushes loose hair from your face, annoyed when the kinky, springy hair snaps back to where it was. Only heat or braiding tames it, and he’s not sure how either work, he supposes he’ll have to learn though, for the times you’re not around.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I am with you and everything will be alright.”

You can’t help it, your anxiety combined with his miraculous intuition, make you burst into tears. His arms are a refuge, you seek their shelter.

“Do you mean it?” You sob into his chest.

“You beautiful fool, why wouldn’t I mean it? Now come on, let’s go back, we’ll figure out how to tell the rest.”

“Do we have to? It’s kinda personal.”

“They’ll find out one way or another. Oh...mother’s going to lose her mind.”

“Do you have to tell _her_ too?”

“Of course I do, she’ll be over the moon about this.”

You still, your insides snap freeze as if the lowlands are suddenly Jotunheim in winter. “Over the moon about _what_ exactly Loki…?”

Look looks at you, your face, then down to where your arm curves over your belly, then back to your face, his own growing redder by the second.

“Wh...aren’t?...Isn’t this…? _Princess are you pregnant?”_

Your scream sends the birds roosting in the branches above you into flight. You howl, falling on your ass, rolling in the dirt with laughter. Loki just collapses, the bones in his knees liquify and he sinks gracelessly into the dirt. His heart snaps back into his chest and abruptly stops.

“You thought I was…!?” You start to cough, tears soak your face, you laugh until you can’t breathe.

“It’s not funny.”

It is.

“Really! I really thought...Princess it’s not funny!”

The horse eyes him, snorting. _It is._

“Loki we talked about this. I’ve taken all the necessary precautions.”

“That’s what I thought! But I find you here retching in the dirt what was I supposed to think? Wait a minute, so what _is_ wrong with you?”

You calm. “Nothing anymore. Thank you. I really needed that.”

“Glad to be of assistance.” He grumbles, annoyed, embarrassed, and a little...sad.

Loki deflects it away. “You still haven’t told me why you just up and ran away leaving me with that wretched Ninja woman.”

“It’s N’inge, and she’s not wretched she just doesn’t trust you yet.”

“She’s right not to, she better sleep with one eye open. They all better.”

The mirth melts from your face and your eyes cloud with sudden worry.

“Did something happen? Did she mistreat you? Did the soldiers? Did they say anything about me leaving?”

Oh. _Now_ he sees it.

“You’re afraid.”

“That’s one way of putting it I guess.”

Loki scoffs just like you knew he would, just like you were afraid he would.

“Why? What cause have _you_ to fear?”

You take hold of the sides of his face. Loki smirks for a moment and readies himself for his kiss but you turn his head to face due south.

“Can you hear it?”

“Birds?”

“No...the city.”

He can’t hear it, neither can you, technically but you still think you can. The chanting, the cries of your name, the cheering. A city full of people, only a fraction of the country full of people waiting for you to come home.

“They’re calling for me.”

“Good, they should. You should have a city full of prostrate peasants begging to touch the hem of your...” You’re wearing your leathers, no hems for the unwashed masses to kiss. “Boot.”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m not stupid, make me understand Princess.”

“That’s it! I’m _not_ a princess anymore, I’m a Queen. Lady and Mistress of millions of people.”

“As you should be.”

“I know! All that time I was with you in Asgard, all I did was think and dream of this, of coming home, taking the throne. I wanted it because it was mine, not because I knew what to do with it. And now that it’s within an hours ride I…”

“You don’t want it anymore?”

“No. I do. But... A million souls, Loki, half of them waiting to see what blessings I’ll bring them, half of them waiting to see what calamity I’ll bring them. But no matter what, _all_ of them looking at me, expectantly I...I don’t know what to do with this. How can I handle this?”

“Simple. Reward the first half, and exterminate the rest.”

“Loki!”

He shrugs, finding no problem with casual purging.

“Even if I was born for this, I was never supposed to become queen this way. You’re eased into it. Responsibilities are taken from the monarch and given to the heir bit by bit until one day you look up and realize _you’re_ the one running the country. It’s not like it is in Asgard where the king dies and suddenly the next in line is given the keys to the kingdom. My mother was full of life, she was supposed to rule for another 150 years or so. I had time. I don’t have time anymore.”

“You don’t need it.”

You’re ready to rebut when he takes the kiss he thought you were going to give him. It’s soft and undemanding, it doesn’t burn hot like a flame, rather it fills up the empty spaces until you are overflowing with love.

“I may have misunderstood the underlying cause for your distress, but even knowing the truth, what I said before still stands: I am with you and everything will be alright. You may not think you’re ready for rule, and maybe you’re not. But _I_ am. I am your ambassador, your adviser,”

Loki smirks and the next kiss he gives your burns a little hotter, makes the heat of the early summer day feel more like late fall. “I am _more_ things, but they don’t need to know that.”

“My queen! My queen! Where are you?” N’inge shouts, she’s close but not close enough to see you trapped between a tree trunk and a Prince with no concept of discretion.

“Kiss me like that again, and I won’t be able to keep a secret.”

Loki, ever the mischief maker, dips for another kiss but stops short of your lips leaving you panting. “Tsk, what a shame. We can’t have that now can we?”

He withdraws but you snatch him close and take the kiss denied you. “I never asked you. Are you happy I'm not pregnant? Are you upset?”

He doesn’t answer right away, pulling away placing himself a respectable distance from you as N’inge arrives with a cadre of soldiers. “My lady? Are you alright?”

“I am fine commander, just wanted to go on an impromptu ride through familiar territory. But I’m ready to return now.”

Loki’s shocked the commander believes that terrible lie.

“Of course,” N’inge doesn’t acknowledge his presence, like he’s a horsefly unworthy of consideration. He’s gaining a better understanding of his new place, he’s an outsider, someone to be tolerated for your sake alone, but he’ll make _her_ understand that horseflies bite.

“Wait, Ambassador Loki,” You call for him as he mounts the horse N’inge brought him.

“Yes?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He can’t answer the way he’d like to, not with so many eyes watching. He knows your magic eye can’t see the color of his heart, you have no idea what he’s thinking.

Good.

"Yes." He answers, in perfect truth.

**Author's Note:**

> MAAAAN I said once I was done with Power and Magic, I'd be done for good.  
> But I have TOO MANY ideas, none of them are good and ALL of them plague my every idle moment.  
> I had ideas cooking for sequels and interludes and one shots since I came up with the epilogue ending for P/M (which was like 4-5 months ago). I thought I'd never be able to muster the energy for them since I devoted so much to a 104 chapter behemoth, but here I am.
> 
> The idea of world-building in the Princess's (now Queen's) homelands was too enticing to ignore forever. Challenges she'll face as a new monarch, challenges Loki will face as an arrogant princely bastard in a land where nearly no one looks like him or gives a damn who he is/who is father (ahem) is. Political intrigue. Managing a relationship with a narcissist while you have to run a country who doesn't really care for their queen shaking up with foreigner...
> 
> ITS TOO MUCH! Too much potential for good drama and romance and hijinks between Se'risa/Niti/Loki/Cephalus and a bunch of new characters I'm cooking up.
> 
> So I had to y'all. Here I am again, writing more.
> 
> Enjoy.


End file.
